


Poetry and short story drabbles

by dailydoseofwhippedcream



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Poetry, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hanahaki Disease, Love Poems, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poetry, Psychological Horror, Random & Short, Randomness, Spooky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:22:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26399374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dailydoseofwhippedcream/pseuds/dailydoseofwhippedcream
Summary: this is kinda a random place were im doing to be publishing works, they might be vents or they are just random works of mine that i kinda just.... did? not really expecting many people to see it lol, im mainly putting it here cuz i wanna have a place to keep these other than my google drive lol
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added





	1. L' œillet Mignardise

* * *

Roses sound like early birds chirping in the morning,

singing a sweet song as they twitter around in the sky.

They sound like the warmth of a campfire in the night.

The drumming of fingers in a classroom.

It sounds like a ‘nice to meet you’ from a stranger on the street.

Like the beeping monotone of a loved one in a hospital bed.

It’s the beating of one's heart as they confess to the one they feel for most,

while hoping for acceptance.

It sounds like the gentle rain as it slides off onto the cold, wet ground.

It sounds like the silence as it's dropped onto the casket, left to rot away into the soil.

The echo of applause in a theater as it's tossed onto the stage and the pianist bows and thanks the crowd.

It’s the sound of twinkling keys, of a somber note,

of dew rolling from the oak leaves to drip onto the keys of the forgotten piano in the forest.

Long forgotten and unusable. It’s still as the fireflies light up the stage.

When he meant everything to them.

* * *


	2. Till morning

The hot air sticks to my skin as I run done the driveway, eager to get inside and rest after a hard day.  
The sky is dwindling and the sun is falling. He rests on the horizon with a blanket of purples and pinks. The wispy pillows of clouds are comforting and soft.  
I stare in envy, ready to snuggle into my own resting place. My keys jingle as I hastily unlock my door and slide inside.  
The beautiful cool air of my home is a much needed comfort as it kisses my face.  
The sun is sleeping as the crickets and cicadas sing their hearts out, keeping a steady beat with each other and making a beautiful ballad.  
My room is dark, dark and comforting. It softens me, but is equally unnerving. The still darkness lets the shadow people dance on my eyelids, dancing to the beat of the insect ballad.  
I stir, trying to stay in my comforting bed sheets. But I can feel them, the shadows keep me awake.  
They make me restless, make me stay with them in consciousness. My eyes spring open in defeat. I stumble in the dark to the mahogany desk that my computer sleeps on.  
With a flourish I flip it on, awakening it. He casts a soft glow onto my face. The shadows hiss in distaste, curling into the corners away from his prosthetic light.  
I tap and tap and wonder and wonder on his internet. We have a beautiful conversation, keeping the dark lurkers away.  
As day dwindles into night, night must also dwindle into day. As such it is only fair that all good things must come to a end as the morning sun peaks his head. He is glowing with his restful sleep and the birds sing at his arrival.  
It ‘tis morning


	3. Sleep paralysis

He shook like a leaf caught in a storm drain.

He was afraid, afraid of the monsters.

Afraid of the shadows lurking around his corners.

Afraid of his own mind.

He couldn’t move, and his brain was playing tricks on him.

He could see though, and he kept his eyes wide open.

He could see the monster at his bed foot.

It seemed to grow bigger the longer he watched.

And he watched and watched, he watched until it shifted, and that’s when he pressed his eyes closed, trying desperately to move his arm.

“Open your eyes.”

The demon tempted, his bed sinking under its immense weight.

He shook his head, trying once again.

“Look at me” it commanded, it’s cold breath stank like death.

He shook once more, jittering like a pair of keys attached to a runner.

The shadows shifted under his eyelids before he felt a crushing weight on his skull.

“OPEN.YOUR.EYES.” it commanded, and so he followed.

He opened his eyes wearily, but there was nothing.


	4. Flowers

They’re in my hair,  
Dandelions.  
They’re in my eyes,   
Daises,  
and in my mouth,  
Pansies.  
They’re in my nose,  
Lilacs.  
They’re in my lungs   
Anemones.  
and in my toes,  
Aster and rose.  
They’re growing and twisting and turning.  
Clovers and Shamrocks and Oxalis.  
They’re burning,  
Baileys and Chilies.  
And pinching,  
Pitchers and.  
And searching,  
Sweet peas.  
For what I’ll never know  
They’re growing with thorns  
With vengeance   
With grace  
Fueled by spite  
Flowers


	5. Comfort

She hung from the swing upside down, her long hair was gently grazing the ground. He was swinging gently beside her. They sat in silence before she sniffles, to which he looked at her in alarm. He knew she was stressed, way too stressed for a kid her age.   
When he looked over he saw her eyes scrunched up, her tears falling from her eyelashes and catching the sun's rays. Her tears gently trailed up her forehead and disappeared into her hair. Her arms, having previously been resting on the ground, shot up with her to wipe them away. She sat up slowly and whimpered.   
He felt the need to do something; so he stopped swinging and walked to be in front of her. He bent down so he could rest his hands on her petite knees. "Breath," he stated, using his thumbs to rub small circles into her knees. "you want anything?" he offered. She gulped and nodded. Her arms fell into her lap to reveal her puffy and red eyes. Tears lingered at the edge of her waterline, only threatening to fall.   
She blinked away a few more tears before making eye contact and reaching out her arms. "Come're princess." He said as he took the silent plea and picked her up, locking his fingers together under her backside securly and letting her rest her fragile head on his shoulder.   
"Ice cream…" she whispered bashfully, quietly like if she said it any louder she might crack. He hummed and turned, walking towards the house with the promise of the sweet confection soon to come.


	6. Ballade of the insects

The sun lays to rest  
he sleeps atop the horizon  
a blanket of purples and pinks  
wispy pillows of soft clouds lined with gold  
a blue and fluorescent moon  
she peeks through the trees  
speckles dance on the rocky ground  
sitting between the escarpment under small shelters  
cricket legs chirp like harp strings  
cicada wings ring-like symbols  
a coarse and discordant tune   
the ballade slows and ends  
birds chirp energetically and rouse  
He wakes and the melody starts again


	7. Un Chevalier Blanc

Loneliness is coldness  
like no blanket at night  
a crisp wind licking at your skin,  
a girl sitting at a pier by herself at dusk.  
Ascending vines on the pier pillars   
swirl like shackles on the girl’s ankles  
and children on the shore  
skipping rocks and laughing.  
Friendship is being protected in his hug  
drawing his sword with a metal scrape  
shiny white helmet utop his head,  
if you told her “Oui c'est vrai,  
friendship’s knight can be yours.”  
She would have no faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un Chevalier Blanc - a white knight  
> Oui c’est vrai - yes it’s true


End file.
